


From Behind Closed Doors

by DogDaysAreOver



Category: Servamp (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blood, Choking, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Smoking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 12:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DogDaysAreOver/pseuds/DogDaysAreOver
Summary: If anyone found themselves in this room, they could rest assured that it was not for a pleasant reason.





	From Behind Closed Doors

From behind closed doors, there comes the muffled sound of glass being shattered.

Touma’s office is dark. It’s not simply because the lights are off, either. Black leather couch, black chairs, black tables, a sparse black desk -- all of the furniture in Touma’s office was much like the man himself, imposing and unwelcoming in a “mess anything up and you’ll regret it” kind of way. No artwork on the walls, no photos of family and friends. If anyone found themselves in this room, they could rest assured that it was not for a pleasant reason.

While Touma continues to pin the president to the wall behind the desk, Iori can’t decide whether or not he agrees with this statement. Touma’s hand is like a statue around his neck, hard and sturdy as he slowly tightens his grip. Stars burst in his vision like sparks, white spots rising and growing and dissipating before his eyes. His chance to breathe is quickly vanishing. He takes as deep a breath as he can manage, and when he does, the metallic warmth of blood fills his senses.

Despite the distinct lack of lighting in the room, Iori can still see Touma’s eyes trained on him, sharp, focused, and just as void as everything else in the room. “That was expensive,” Touma says without turning to look down. All of Touma’s pens lay on the floor where they had fallen, and the crystal container that housed them was nothing but shards now. Iori had accidentally caught it with his foot while he was being thrown up against the wall. His throat is starting to ache as Touma lifts him another inch off the ground. “You’re going to pay for me to replace it.”

Iori couldn’t respond even if he wanted to. He knows that Touma will release him if he simply waits this out, but his adrenaline still races with each passing second as his vision sways and his thoughts quickly become disoriented. Just before Iori wonders whether Touma intends for him to pass out, the taller man suddenly released Iori with a slight jerk of his hand. He’s weakened from the lack of oxygen, and his knees buckle beneath him as he manages to grab the desk for support.

He doesn’t have time to rest as Touma grabs him by the hair and forces his head back. Touma leans down, and the cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth glows a brilliant orange near the base as it slowly eats away the paper. Iori watches, transfixed. Tendrils of acrid smoke cause his eyes to water when Touma exhales.

“There’s no smoking inside the headquarters,” is all Iori rasps, his voice bruised and raw.

Touma removes the cigarette from his mouth. Iori is sure he’s going to have it jabbed onto his face, but all Touma does is place the stick between the other man's lips. He doesn’t taste the tobacco’s flavor anymore when he smokes. All he can taste is Touma, Touma’s hair, Touma’s clothes, Touma’s signature scent as he inhales and fills his lungs with the welcome burn. Touma then takes the cigarette and drops it into the ashtray on his desk.

“You know what I hate most about you?” he asks, keeping his grip firm at the root of Iori’s hair. “It’s that disgusting smile you’re always wearing. Every time I see you, I can’t help but think -- what would it feel like to finally take that away from you?”

“I wonder?” Iori chuckles, because even though the blood on his chin is wet and starting to itch, he can feel the smile still on his lips even now.

“But it’s not enough,” Touma goes on, his voice even as he practically stands over Iori. “I won’t settle for just anything. I want it to be painful. I want to watch as everything you’ve ever had gets taken away from you. I wonder, would you be smiling then? Would you be laughing if your entire world was destroyed, slowly, piece by piece?”

Iori tries to laugh but only ends up coughing, and there’s a sharp pain between his shoulder blades where Touma threw him into the wall. “I don’t value this world of mine as much as you seem to believe.”

“Then what is it?” Touma continues, pulling Iori’s head back even farther until he’s sure his neck is going to snap. Iori couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer amount of strength Touma could exhibit while speaking so casually. “If not your own life, then what about your family? What about that fancy title of yours? What if I were to ruin your good name? Names are everything to _ you people_, after all.” Touma almost sneers at the last part, his voice filled with such a strong disgust. “The pride and joy of the Tsukimitsu family. What a joke. All of this, just because of a name.”

Iori is momentarily stunned as Touma’s knee connects with his cheek. His head hits the wall before fingers are wrapped in the collar of his shirt, and as Touma keeps him held upright, all Iori can think is, _ I picked the wrong day to wear white. _

“People may respect your name, but _ you _ are nothing,” Touma tells him, once again the picture of calmness. In fact, if it weren’t for the searing throb in Iori’s jaw, he would be shocked to think that the man in front of him had tried putting his kneecap through Iori’s skull only moments ago. “I will always be stronger than you, and I don’t care how long it takes -- when I finally prove that to you, I’m going to enjoy the look on your face.”

Iori reaches up and holds the other man's wrist, seeing as Touma’s fingers are still curled into the fabric of his shirt. “I never said that I was stronger than you, Touma.” He smiles, his eyes narrowing slightly in response. “But I _ am _ the president.”

And even though Touma’s face remains unchanged, Iori can practically feel the ferocity radiating off of him in waves, choking the limited space between them until Touma finally releases his hold on Iori’s shirt. “For now,” is his only response as his hands go to the leather belt at his waist.


End file.
